Seasonal Longwindedness

A trip to the edge of town to pay the usual seasonal respects (and send a photo to the sis to prove I’d done it) and then round over Harlaw to visit the living. For there was the aunt in good form with her granddaughter S, tucking into the Ecclefechan tarts. The aunt was particularly animated by a recent funeral she’d attended of an old friend - a poor affair she told us, the kids hadn’t stepped up to put on a fitting do. Aunt S is the generation above yesterday’s cohort with their aching joints: she’s much more empathetic to those close to funerals and death. "I’ve got to the stage where at my funeral I’ll be the only one left alive,” quoth she before realising that wasn’t quite correct somehow. We did understand.
On to Corstorphine where P&K are entertaining K’s mother; they seemed delighted by our arrival (of course, they always are, who wouldn’t be) particularly to assist in lightening their burden and enlivening proceedings. And eating their mince pies. Maybe I should become a church elder. These days however I understand you have to actually believe in the big man, whereas in days gone by churchy people were too polite to vulgarly talk openly of such things. 
Talking of the afterlife, we lose away at Hamilton. Relegation is now becoming quite a possibility. At least season tickets will be a bit cheaper.